Once Upon Love
by KartheyM
Summary: Original plot updated and set against the backdrop of a New York Performing Arts College. Hayden and Madi grew up together, but Hayden has always been a little too self-conscious and shy to express to her. Things get complicated when Madi falls for the dashing freshman, Chris; also vying for her hand is the unscrupulous Matt. *Could use some feedback, please! :D
1. Dramatis Personae

HAYDEN BERGER (_Cyrano)_- Plain-looking, well-respected, but more in the infamous sense. Mother was an actress, father was a famous orator, very prestigious family, very rich. Hayden recently achieved his Master's in Fine Arts, and he is on his third year of getting a Bachelor's in Liberal Arts, so he's been at the college for several years. Hayden's "big nose" is his reputation. It "goes before" him wherever he goes, and it is a deterrent for him pursuing the relationship with the girl he loves, because he is known as a hard, ruthless perfectionist.

MADISON "MADI" ROBBINS _(Roxanne)_- Quiet-type girl. Hayden's love-interest. Very beautiful and popular, nonetheless. Her popularity makes it hard for Hayden to reconcile himself to revealing his love, because he is ashamed of his reputation as arrogant, and worried that if he makes his love for Madi known, it will appear that he always wants the best for himself and thinks that he can always get the best for himself because of his prestige. Madi is a poor orphan, and she is living just off-campus with a 38-year-old widow, Donna Steele. She is studying on a pay-per-credit basis, and works in the campus library to pay for her classes. She's an aspiring playwright, who is insecure in her abilities.

MATT PUCKER _(De Guiche)_- Popular in the Drama department at school. VERY arrogant and rich. Wants Madi for himself. Knows of her literary aspirations, and is always trying to get her to write something for the drama department. In spite of wanting her to write it, he has his own specific parameters: it must be a romance, and it must star him in the lead male role, and she must be in the lead female role. "Puck" (as he is commonly known) is only popular on account of his money, not his character. Hates Hayden, and pays guys to make fun of him.

CHRISTOPHER NEWVILLE _(Christian De Neuvillette)_- Madi and he collide in the library, and both fall in love without knowing each other. Only been at Ballard College for a few months, but about Madi's age. Madi entered college young, but since she has to work for so long to pay for each credit, she has been there for quite a while. Chris is extremely shy around girls, and not as quick-witted as Hayden, but he is very good at writing, and in comfortable situations, he is very brave.

NED REGAN (_Ragueneau)_- Parents are both chefs, so he knows a lot about cooking and food. However, he would rather be a poet than a chef. He convinced his parents that Ballard has a culinary program, and that he needs to get his pre-reqs at Ballard before transferring to the prestigious culinary Institute they wanted to send him to, but in reality, he's doing much the same thing as Madi, working in the kitchen to pay for his degree. Idolizes Hayden. He's mostly a plot-reveal type character, and comic-relief.

MONTREAL LA FLEUR (_Montfleury)_- Arrogant buffoon of an actor. Acts as his own agent in the college, billing himself as "the showstopper." Took over the Drama department when Hayden stepped down to focus more on literature. Really can't act at all, and Hayden hates him.

LEE BRITON (_Le Bret)_- In charge of the theater at Ballard. Very close friend of Hayden. Serves as his voice of counsel sometimes. Doesn't like the way Hayden and others often mess up his theater when Hayden reacts to a bad show/acting/singing.

BERGERIACS— Literature club at Ballard. Hayden is not the leader, though he is held in high regard and decides its members. Matt bought his way into the Bergeriacs, not because he likes poetry (he can't write at all), but because the Bergeriacs meet regularly in the library where Madi works, and the drama club cannot.

BALLARD COLLEGE OF THE ARTS—College where all these people attend. In Albany, New York. Moderately prestigious. Poets and dramatists are among the most respected at the college, but dramatists have lost their respect since Monty took over that department. Matt resents this.


	2. Chapter 1: Introducing Christian

Christopher Newville sighed as he adjusted the strap of his messenger bag to a more comfortable spot on his shoulder.

It didn't matter that he'd already been through a semester at Ballard. Somehow, the first day climbing the stone steps as a student seemed far more daunting than any other day of the year, especially more than traversing the same path for orientation. _What pressures come with student life!_ He thought. Gone were the petty concerns of peer pressure from school-fellows of elementary, middle, and high-school days. Now Chris found himself under the careful scrutiny of demanding professors and a rigorous schedule.

The first place Chris needed to go was the expansive Winston Churchill Memorial Library. Coming from a small school system in a suburb of Rochester, the sheer magnitude of books never failed to blow him away. Chris, as he had done most of the previous semester, did not go straight to the bank of computers that served as an electronic card catalog as most other students did, but wandered among the shelves aimlessly, staring wide-eyed at the vast array of books in every imaginable size and color.

Five minutes later, it occurred to him that he really ought to find the books he needed and leave so he might adequately prepare for his first class of the spring semester. Chris hated to be unprepared, yet it seemed life so very often thrust him into situations where he rarely was. He had fumbled his way through the fall semester; he purposed that the first day of spring semester would be the start of a new trend, one where he was punctual to every class.

Chris returned to the computers and typed in the title of the book he wanted. Upon receiving the number, he immediately scanned the shelves for the range he wanted. He found the shelf, and two minutes later, he found the books. His next mission: exit the library.

Chris felt very efficient as he wove between the rows of shelves. One could almost say he knew his way—

"Oh, goodness!"

Quite suddenly, Chris Newville ran his nose into the carpet and at the same time realized there was a person underneath him. He looked at her face, so close to his own. It occurred to him that he probably should say something.

"Hi," he managed.

When she didn't reply, but continued to stare at him, he wonder why until it occurred to him that it probably had something to do with the fact that he was still laying on top of her.

"Oh, excuse me," he stumbled to his feet awkwardly, "sorry," he apologized.

She giggled nervously and smoothed her copper-colored hair as her blue-gray eyes sparkled at him. She was so beautiful. Chris felt he could stand there looking at her for a long time, but she began to turn away, saying, "Well, excuse me—"

"Wait!" Chris cried, "What is your name?"

A man behind him grabbed his arm. "Christopher! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

The mysterious beauty disappeared as Chris turned to face Professor Leon Guerre, an old family friend and the man largely responsible for Chris' presence at Ballard College of the Arts.

"Professor Guerre, hello," Chris said politely, but the portly gentleman did not pause.

"Quickly, the performance is about to begin!"

Chris followed the man, "What performance? Will I be late to my class?"

Professor Guerre stopped. "What class?"

Chris brought out his class schedule and pointed. "It says I have History class in one half-hour."

Guerre squinted at the schedule. "Oh! Special dispensation; that class was postponed two hours. You won't want to miss it. Now, come with me!"

The professor led his young charge to Ballard Theater. A large poster out front proclaimed,

_"Selections from Shakespeare's 'Hamlet', performed by critically acclaimed dramatist, Montreal LaFleur."_

"A professional?" Chris inquired, pointing at the playbill.

Guerre snorted, "No more professional than you or I. Montreal is of the sort whose sense of greatness is over-indulged to the point of preposterousness. Yet he is a moderate specimen of the breed, and the head of the drama department, so you'll be taking some of your cues from him."

They entered and sat in two vacant seats at the many tables set before the stage. The theater was nearly full, but most of the audience was from outside the college.

Chris gazed around. He saw a hesitant freshman directing the concession stand. "Who is that?"

Guerre twisted in his seat and peered through his thick glasses. "That is Edward Regan, a promising young man, though perhaps a bit—shall we say—distracted by verse? You will find him a very loyal friend, though."

Presently, a kind-looking man with light hair and a neat suit crossed to them and shook the old professor's hand. "Good to see you, sir. Have you heard whether Hayden Berger will attend?"

Guerre shrugged, "I do not know, Lee. You know how much Hayden loathes Monty. I imagine he would not bear to be in the theater when LaFleur is onstage."

Lee Briton nodded, "True, but do you not recall the incident two weeks ago, at the end of last quarter? Monty tried to perform Shakespeare then, too, and did so poorly that Hayden took the liberty of banishing him from my theater for a full month! Would Hayden make such a ban in public if he did not intend to monitor the theater during the month, to enforce his word? LaFleur is either very brave or very foolish to appear on stage so soon!"

"Lee, you speak as if you did not bill him in your own theater!"

It was Lee's turn to shrug. "I didn't! He must have billed himself, and I did not notice until it was too late to cancel!"

Guerre shook his head. "Then there is nothing we can do but wait and see. Enjoy what you can of the show." Lee nodded and returned to his seat.

The lights dimmed, the curtain opened, and there on the stage stood the sorriest sight Chris had ever seen at Ballard!

Montreal LaFleur, as the name might suggest, was a youth of ponderous frame, compounded by his highly-inflated ego. He stood before "his public" now, clad in the full regalia of seventeenth-century Danish robes, a most (he thought) dramatic expression on his face. In reality, he had drawn the corners of his mouth so that he constantly looked like he had somehow swallowed a frog. He began his piece.

"What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty!"

Chris could not help noticing the way the rotund young man's bulging eyes constantly roved to a particular table at the far right of the room. He followed Monty's gaze, and there she was: the beauty from the library!

Chris grabbed Guerre's arm. "There she is!" he hissed in the old man's ear. "Quick, Guerre, for the love of grace tell me who she is!"

The old professor raised his eyebrows discerningly. "She is Madison Robbins. See that woman on her right? That is Donna Steele, her guardian. Madi works in the Library."

"Yes, I know. Why does Montreal look at her so often?" Chris demanded in a whisper.

Guerre chuckled. "Montreal LaFleur fancies himself a ladies' man. Madison has charm and beauty to her credit, but there is only one man with true love for her, and another who will probably have her in the end."

"Who will have her?"

"His name is Matthew Pucker, and a more formidable student by way of monetary influence you are not likely to find in this institution. He has designs for young Madi. He has made no secret of his desire to marry her this coming semester, but so far his forwardness has only bred aversion in her. Madison Robbins is not one who would allow herself to be forced into situations, much less marriage. She has also stated that money would never buy her love, which makes wealthy students like Matt all the more disagreeable to her."

Chris sighed and watched her adoringly. "I am not above her in that respect! Would that we could be introduced!"

Professor Leon shrugged. "Perhaps after the play I can introduce you two."

Christopher brightened and returned to watching the arrogant actor perform.

"In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel!" Monty attempted to emphasize his words by "gliding" about the stage, brazenly edging closer to Madi's side of the room.

"I wonder at your gall, LaFleur! Or perhaps it is your utter contempt for the stage that compels you to appear thus!"

All noise within the theater immediately died at the piercing comment. Two seconds later, the buzz of whispered commentary echoed about the room.

LaFleur vainly attempted to recover his composure. However, his words had lost their loftiness. "In apprehension how like a god…the beauty of the world…the paragon of animals…"

"You are a disgrace, Monty! Your rebellious image is severely eclipsed by your elephantine girth!"

Monty stopped and spluttered. "I am an actor, and I will be dictated to by none save my superior!" he finished in a shriek.

From a table in the very center of the room rose a figure impeccably dressed, mouth set in a firm line, a resolute glint in his eye. He stood upon the table and spoke.

"Very well, then! Nearly everyone in this room is your superior in morality and intellect! What say you all to this imponderable ponderosity?"

The air filled with mixed cries of, "Out, LaFleur!" and "Quiet, you Philistine!"

Guerre nudged Chris and pointed to the impeccable gentleman. "It is Hayden Berger!"

After people's words disintegrated into boos and catcalls, Hayden pointed a dagger-like finger at his blubbering, fantastically dressed victim.

"_Vox populii, vox Dei_!" He intoned. "Montreal LaFleur! Melt in the presence of their heated wrath like the mass of lard you are!" Hayden clapped his hands, and there was an explosion of smoke as a trapdoor opened and Monty collapsed into it with a hideous scream.

Everyone rose to their feet en masse.

"For shame!" someone cried, "It's only Shakespeare!"

Hayden stepped off the table and ran to the stage, leaping to it amid the assembling crowd.

"Only Shakespeare?" he repeated, "You might have said 'only Moses' or 'only Paul'! Good people! These are the finest works penned by man since the Bible and you are content to have them cast off the stage like vomit? Where is your sense of decency? Where is your pride in the fine arts you so ardently profess to support by your presence here at Ballard? Will you insist upon such idiocy, this parasite I endeavor to protect you from?"

A man raised his hand. "I don't know about anyone else, but I know Monty as a friend, and anyone who insults him insults me, too! As for you, sir!" he pointed at Hayden, standing like David over the goliath audience. "Who made you lord and king of the theater, that you should be the one dictating who and what goes on?"

A girl stood up and announced to her boyfriend, "As long as that guy is here, I'm not coming to any more performances!"

"Me neither!" several voices cried, and everyone left forthwith.

Chris left with Professor Guerre only after he realized that Madi and Donna were already gone.

Soon Lee Briton and Hayden were the only ones left in the theater. The older man sat dejectedly, surveying the mess of trash left by unhappy people, and calculating the mass of refunds this event now required.

Hayden noticed this, and sat down next to his friend. "Sorry about the mess," he apologized.

Briton huffed moodily. "Why, every time I finally fill the house, you always show up and scare everyone away?" He fished a broom from behind the concessions counter and began sweeping as a penitent Hayden found a washrag and began wiping tables.

"I don't mean to drive everyone out, it's just that maybe I feel stronger about literature and drama than everyone else does."

Briton rolled his eyes. "Then why feel so strongly about it? Why must you drive Montreal away from the theater every time he tries?"

The sound of that name caused Hayden to shudder, and he checked his rising emotions by concentrating on a dark stain on the table. "Montreal LaFleur is not worthy to perform! I do not care if he is head of the drama department! He only attained that position when I stepped down purely out of his own overblown ambitions, to say nothing of his non-existent skill! He is nothing but a self-inflated windbag!"

Lee watched his friend with an experienced eye. "Is that truly all the reason you have for your disdain?"

A hot flush crept over Hayden's ears and forehead. "Yes," he said tersely, but Lee knew there was only one thing that could bring Hayden Berger's emotions to such a boil, and it was not poor acting. Lee looked down to where Hayden was still scrubbing.

"That stain you are trying to eradicate is an overabundance of varnish, not something external." Hayden stopped, and Lee gently pulled the rag from Hayden's clenched fist. "Tell me the truth, Hayden. It's about Madison, isn't it?"

Hayden dropped into the chair behind him, sighing ruefully. "Yes," he admitted finally. "I see the way he looks at her; he, who is not even worthy to walk where she has been! He violates her every time he ogles in her direction. The unabashed brazenness of him! Would that I could be hers, and rescue the tender rose from the choking weeds!"

"But see here," Lee interjected, "is it really necessary to 'rescue' her, as you say? Matthew loves her, and he is rich as she is poor. The match would benefit her greatly."

Hayden winced. "But he is not worthy of her! I am the only one here at Ballard worthy of Madison Robbins! I will not debase her as Monty does, nor will I defraud her as Matthew Pucker likely would! I am her equal in all but one area."

Lee clapped his friend on the shoulder. "I believe you to be worthy of each other. Why have you never told her your feelings? And what is the one area you speak of? What could possibly disqualify the infamous Hayden Berger from attaining his ends?"

Hayden threw up his hands. "That's just it! Madi is the most popular student in the exact proportion that I am the least popular!"

"Not true! Many people know your name!"

"In what way? Think about it honestly, Lee! If I did pursue a relationship with Madison, what would that look like to others? It would be natural for a stuck-up, self-important, perfectionist to want the most perfect student in school for his own! Of course Hayden Berger gets what he wants, he always gets what he wants! I fear it will make her reputation worse for my attentions, and so I am forced to stand by and watch as fat, slobbering, flea-ridden curs fawn stupidly at her feet!"

Lee was struck silent at the strong language his friend used, and the strong emotions in which they were used. He was saved from having to say anything, for just at that moment, a footstep sounded in the door of the theater.

Donna Steele came forward apologetically. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting," she said. Both young men shook their heads graciously as the widow continued, "Hayden, Madi sent me to ask if she could meet with you privately tomorrow morning before class. Would you be willing?"

Hayden's heart flipped, and he gulped before replying, "Yes, I would; what time, and where should I be?"

"Her first class is at eight. I don't know very many private places in this college—"

"Tell Madison we will meet in Regan's Corner at seven. She knows where that is."

"Seven o'clock? Regan's Corner? All right; thank you, Hayden. Goodbye."

Neither friend dared twitch a muscle while Mrs. Steele made her exit, but as soon as she was gone, Lee slapped Hayden on the back as his friend stared numbly into space. "This is it, Hayden!" Lee crowed, "This is your chance! Take my advice and carpe diem!"

Hayden finally emerged from his stupor with a sigh. "Madi Robbins asks me to meet privately before classes. What could she possibly want to talk about?"

"What else?" Lee cried incredulously. "Come on, Hayden! This is the chance you've been waiting for! Finally, she can hear your heart, as you will no doubt hear hers!"

Hayden stood slowly, his mind already working over what he might say to Madi, the only person for whom he'd felt any real affection other than familial. He turned to faithful Lee Briton and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Well, I'd better prepare my heart to her liking then; good day, Lee, and thank you."

Hayden resumed his classes, but concentration was difficult to come by in light of the recent turn of events. Could Madi really want to tell him of her love?

Only the morning would tell.

^^^^^


	3. Chapter 2: The Food of Love

Edward Regan felt like a duck living in a pen right next to a pond. The only son of famous chef couple Oliver and Rita Regan, they nurtured in him a love for the kitchen as soon as he could hold a spoon, and cultivated his palate for gourmet foods as soon as he was weaned. What then, they reasoned, would prevent him from following the footsteps of his illustrious parents?

Yet there as something within young Ned that gave him more thrill than a perfectly-formed sugar rose, or the smell of fresh-picked herbs: the love of poetry.

More than anything, Ned loved the blending of words into flavorful rhymes. His parents tried to discourage it, ignoring him or clapping a recipe in his hands when he began rhyming, and they very nearly succeeded. While Ned did not excel in English class, he was certainly among the top students.  
Elementary and high school were all harmless bothers to Ned, but when his parents spoke of shipping him off to the Isituto Culinario of Florence, Italy where they had studied, met, and married, Ned knew he needed a way of escape.

This escape was effected by a desperate application form written entirely in rhyme that amused the board of directors at Ballard College of the Arts, who granted him a scholarship.  
The doors of the institution were the veritable gates of Paradise for the "Shakespeare of the Kitchen." He prided himself for his cleverness in convincing his parents that Ballard contacted him first, and he simply could not waste or refuse the scholarship, but must use it to obtain a general education, after which time he would transfer to the Italian institute.

Though particularly enthralled with poetry, Ned nevertheless excelled in the kitchen. He presided there now, overseeing the production of a banquet for that evening. Fretting and bustling, he scurried around the commercial kitchen, peeking over shoulders, sampling the various sauces, soups, and dishes, all the while working out a poem spinning through his head.

"You!" he demanded of an underling,

"As the zucchini softens into stew,  
Canst thou find aught for thy hands to do?"

The student stared at Ned, wondering if he was joking, but the young sous-chef stared back in all seriousness. "Well," the stunned freshman replied, "I guess I could."

Ned nodded and hurried off to the large steel machine in the back of the kitchen, the pasta extruder. He stared at the ribbons of fettuccini issuing from its side. Looking up at the freshman who had made the dough, he said lovingly,

"Golden streams of noodle flow,  
Exactly as they ought to go!"

This particular student was not so naïve to this wordsmith of the Ballard kitchens, so she knew that the rhyme-struck chef was delivering a compliment. "Thanks," she said.

Just then, Ned Regan caught sight of a familiar form he desired to follow as often as he saw it. There in the back of the kitchen was situated the special corner reserved for Regan, where he stored special ingredients and tools, where he could invent menus and recipes, and (when no one was looking), he would take the opportunity to write poetry, whether his own or copied from a book. Now in that corner, evidently agitated about something, was Hayden Berger himself.

Ned hesitated, basking in moment after moment of undetected observation. He fought back a reaction as he saw Hayden Berger pick up a poem Ned had worked out on a piece of butcher paper one of students had forgotten back in the Corner. Ned had many such over-written papers, whether butcher, parchment, or even wax. One really could not blame the lad; it was the only sort of paper to be found on such short notice in the kitchen!

Hayden never flinched, never moved a muscle, but his well-known, steely voice pierced the glory. "Ned, my friend, I have a favor to ask of you."

Ned rushed forward, "Name it, O hero of the stage and page!" he cried.

Hayden finally turned, and the only response to the praise was a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. "I would like the use of your corner here. If you could keep it private, just for an hour, I would be grateful. May I use it?"

Ned stared; what an easy favor! "Of course! You may have it for as long as you wish. But—if I may be so bold—may I inquire as to what you intend to do here in the Corner?"

Hayden brushed his nose, a sign that he was slightly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat.  
"A private conference with someone at seven o'clock."

Ned glanced at the wall clock hanging above the sinks. "Seven? But it's only just after six! Who is this person, that you would be so early?"

A long pause, "Madison Robbins."

Ned gasped. "You intend to speak privately with Madi? Here in my kitchen, in my Corner?"

Hayden hastily corrected him, "No, she asked to speak with me."

"But you recommended my place, didn't you? I am honored! I know how you two have admired each other all your lives. Just think, Hayden! In one hour you will have the opportunity to open your heart to her, and she will be willing to listen!"

Hayden rolled his eyes at the romantic young chef's naiveté, "So said Lee Briton. But truly, Ed, who would want to hear the heard of one so notorious as I? Yet if you insist—"

"Oh! Do not allow my preference to have any bearing on you, but know that I strongly recommend such a course of action."

Hayden hemmed and hawed. A student came back to the Corner. "Chef Regan, I left a piece of butcher paper here the other day—" she happened upon the piece on which Ned had transcribed a poem, completely unaware of the paper's new commission, "Oh here it is, never mind."

Ned moved to snatch the paper, and the frightened student stepped back.

"No!" he cried, "Not that paper! How dare you debase the sonnets of Petrarch so! Wrapping them around your bloody cuts of meat, using them to package greasy bread and sticky jelly rolls! I shall not stand for it!"

"You most certainly will!" said a voice behind him.

"Chef Lisa!" cried Ned, whirling upon the stern-faced head-chef standing behind him.

"Regan, I've heard quite enough of your wasting kitchen paper, specifically designed for use with foodstuffs, and scribbling them all over with your doggerel! From now on, if you do not want your papers to be used by the kitchen, don't use _kitchen paper_!"

Seeing an unused piece of parchment paper, Hayden took it and turned respectfully to Lisa.  
"May I use this paper?"

Lisa looked at him in surprise, for she hadn't noticed him till now. "Oh, Hayden Berger! Well, of course you can." She blushed and hurried on to other business. All this literary use of paper really got on her nerves, but it wouldn't do to refuse Hayden Berger!

Hayden seized the paper and began writing. Ned knew it was time for him to begin braising the lamb, but his curiosity proved too much for him, and he peeked over Hayden's shoulder.

He barely had enough chance to read the words, _Thy tender beauty strikes fear in my heart, _before Hayden covered the paper with his arms and shoved Ned away with his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Hayden cried.

Ned stepped back, "I was only curious," he said. "Are you writing her a letter? What for? Aren't you going to speak to her face?"

Ned's questions nettled Hayden, not because they were silly, but because they had inadvertently hit upon the very reason Hayden was writing. The senior student chose to bluff. "Of course I will speak to her!" he cried incredulously, "I am only writing a sonnet to give her also."

Ned's eyes lit up, "Ah! May I read it?"

Hayden folded the letter away from Ned's prying eyes. He hadn't signed it, but if he was giving it to her personally, she'd know it was from him anyway. "It is for her eyes alone!" he announced.

Ned nodded respectfully. "I'll leave you to your musings, then." The young sous-chef retreated from the presence of the Bard of Ballard.

"Musings?" Hayden muttered, "Ha! Hardly!" He unfolded his letter and read the words he'd just written. He had no trouble talking, but if it was love Madi wanted to talk about, Hayden knew there was no way he would ever be able to speak of it to her face. He sighed.

"I'll be lucky to make myself understood," he said quietly.

"Since when has Hayden Berger ever had trouble with that, may I ask?" A cheery voice behind him demanded.

Hayden whirled around, re-folding and shoving the letter in his pocket in the same movement, all while holding Madi's gaze. "Oh, I don't know—" he said hurriedly, and winced when he saw that she was staring at his pocket.

"What is that?" she insisted.

Hayden drew his hand out of his pocket and said, "Nothing—" Madi grabbed his hand, and Hayden realized with relief that she had been staring at his knuckles, and perhaps had not noticed the note.

She rubbed the scabs on his knuckles, and he winced in pain. "Hayden!" she scolded, "That's dried blood! Where's the First-aid?" Quickly she began poking through the drawers in Ned's desk until she located a small, white, plastic box of bandages and ointment.

Borrowing a wet cloth from a nearby sink, she proceeded to clean and dress his "wound." Once the band-aid was secure, she patted his hand. "There, all better now?" she said patronizingly.  
Some of the old twinkle returned to Hayden's eye as he smiled and reminded her, "Not quite; you forgot something."

Madison's confusion quickly transformed to a bright blush as she rolled her eyes and chuckled. She lifted Hayden's hand and kissed the band-aid. "There," she repeated softly, "now is it better?"

Hayden chuckled and nodded, simply enjoying the feel of her hand against his. His expression fell to one more serious as he said, "You know what this reminds me of, don't you?"

Madi nodded and smiled. "Summers at the Robbins farm, playing house by the big tree."

"You were never the wife, never the sister, always my mother, even though I am older."

Madi sighed. "Oh, for such carefree timelessness again!" She gazed at Hayden with sparkling eyes. "You would get into such trouble all by yourself! And I would have to come running to help you back on your feet, and get you bandages and cold water." She chuckled and held up his injured hand.

"You almost convinced me that those days were past! What happened last night?"

Hayden rubbed his nose furiously, a sure sign he was uneasy. "Well…you know Monty performed yesterday…"

"And you punched him? Hayden!"

"No!" Hayden expressed his contempt for said actor by a snort, "Are you kidding? I refuse to be closer than five feet from that fat oaf! Him I made disappear."

"Well then, what really happened?"

Another rubbing of the nose. "Well, um, there may or may not have been a few troublemakers that I may or may not have offended by my opinion, and they may or may not have followed me back to the dorms to make trouble, and I may or may not have…punched them."

Madison frowned and put a hand on her hip. "Hayden Berger, you know how I feel about fighting!"

_Yes, but what if I told you it was in your defense that I fought, and not for my own ego?_Hayden thought, but he did not say it. Instead, he cleared his throat. "So, you came to the kitchens early in the morning, just because I had a fight and scraped my knuckles?"

"Oh! No," Madi giggled charmingly, "I actually came to you, my dearest and closest friend—"

"I like the sound of that."

"—to talk of love."

Hayden's heart skipped a beat. "Of love?" he echoed, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes!" Madi laughed, "I confess it freely! Hayden, I am in love!"

"With whom, may I ask?" Hayden fought to maintain his composure, ever mindful of what Lee had said.

Madison grinned teasingly and wagged a finger. "Oh no, dear boy, you aren't going to get it that easy. I don't give names, I give clues, remember?"

Hayden sighed and squelched his anxiety. "All right, I'm listening."

"Ok, here it is," Madison began, counting the clues on her fingers.

"He who I love does not know it yet."

"Of course."

"But he will know soon."

"Undoubtedly."

"We've known each other since childhood."

"Indeed."

"He's a good student, a hard worker, and a brilliant writer."

"I would expect nothing less for you."

"Ha! You're sweet. Anyway, he's totally the cutest guy I've ever seen, and…he's just…wonderful," she finished with a sigh.

Hayden's hopes, which had been escalating with each clue, suddenly deflated at the last comment. "Oh, wonderful," he muttered sarcastically.

Madi was so taken up with thoughts of her love that she missed his tone completely. "Uh-huh, so…can you guess?"

Hayden sighed, "Sadly, I cannot."

Madi laughed at what she thought was dramatic disappointment.

"I should think you could! It's Christopher Newville!"

Time seemed frozen in place. "Chris?" Hayden gasped, trying to prevent his lip from curling at the name, for Madi's sake. "He's new here, isn't he?"

"It's his second quarter; I guess we all didn't notice him last quarter. But get this! Just yesterday, the first day of the spring quarter, he and I totally ran into each other at the Library."

"Oh? Did he recognize you?"

"I don't think you get it, Hayden," Madi giggled, "we literally ran into each other! Like he totally took me out!"

"Awkward!"

"Very much so!" Madi agreed.

"So…but you said you knew him from childhood. Didn't you just meet the other day?"

Madi fell suddenly quiet, as she always did when talking about her early years as a foster kid.  
"Yeah, we were at the same intermediate home before the Robbinses adopted me. I never expected to see him again."

Hayden sought to lighten the mood. "Ten years later, he knocks you down like a bowling pin!"

Madi lifted her eyes and laughed at the mental picture. "Yeah, something like that. Hayden," she continued, serious again, "Will you do something for me?"

"Of course!" Hayden said readily, "Anything for a cousin o' mine!"

Madi half-grinned. "I'm not your cousin! We aren't even related!"

"Close enough! Now, what would you have me do, dear not-cousin?"

The young woman stuck her tongue out at Hayden's jesting. "I want you to befriend Chris. Invite him to the Bergeriacs."

"The Bergeriacs?" Hayden cried, "but, my dear Madison, we are elite!"

"All the more reason he ought to be accepted! Surely his skills as a poet are not to be underestimated."

"Do you have proof of this alleged skill?"

"Well, no; but he has the look of a poet about him. Please, Hayden! Everyone looks up to you and the Bergeriacs. I know he'll feel far less awkward if he has you for a friend. Will you do this? For me?"

"Well… all right, Madi."

Just then, the two friends heard a commotion at the front of the kitchen.

Hayden heard poor Ned's frantic voice, "What are you all doing in here?"

"We have come to partake of your bounty, monsieur!"

"We're poor, hungry poets, have no cause for fear!"

"From our good pal Hayden, tales of valor we'll hear."

"I've come to eat dainties, so what have ye here?"

Hayden smiled at the clever rhyming and at the unabashed admission of the last speaker.

Soon the whole throng of Bergeriacs—freshmen and sophomores, mostly, some English majors, some poetry majors, all respecters of writing in general—descended upon Hayden, each with a fresh doughnut in hand.

Madi blushed, "I should probably go now," she said quickly, "but talk to Chris today."

"I will."

"Oh, and…if you could get a sampling of his writing for me. Ask him his feelings for me, and tell him to send it to me over the Balcony. That'd be great."

"The Balcony" was , the site Ballard's students used as a message board, class info, social networking, in short, everything.

No sooner had Madi turned away than the young poets prevailed upon Hayden's attention.

"So, Hayden, I missed the big show yesterday."

"Yeah, we all did; how did it go?"

Hayden cleared his throat, "I'll tell you that in a minute, boys."

"Better be a New York minute, considering the location!"

Hayden deterred any further wisecracking with a freezing look. "First, I want to know: have any of your heard of Christopher Newville?"

All noise died at the mention of the name.

Hayden looked at the hesitant faces, "Well?"

"Yeh, I heard of 'im," said one young man in a thick Brooklyn accent, "but see, he's the newbie of the bunch, so I ain't heard much!"

Everyone laughed, and someone added, "Yeah, there ain't much to say 'bout Newbie-ville!"

"So, Mister Hayden, why the interest?"

Hayden smiled, and the Bergeriacs fancied they saw a crafty gleam in his eye. "I would like to meet this newcomer—"

"What?" everyone cried.

"—in the Library—"

"Ooooh!"

"—alone!"

The boys began to whoop and applaud.

"Oh man! He dead meat!"

"He's gonna get at taste of Ballard's finest!"

"Pow! Just like that!"

"Stuff his throat with Dickens!"

"Nah, clobber 'im with _War and Peace_! That'll teach him to respect the Bergeriacs!"

"Newbie-ville is so in for it now!"

Hayden took the opportunity to bow out, leaving "his gang" to their exultations. Never mind that Chris had contacted him first, requesting the meeting. Let them think he was going to give young Chris what-for!

Every time he thought of Madi, Hayden knew he wanted to; but he had promised Madi to befriend Chris, and be it never said that Hayden Berger rescinded his word.

^^^^^


	4. Chapter 3: A Reputable Opponent

It cannot be said that Hayden Berger was a man of humble means or ways.

His father was a golden-tongued sage, a successful orator by the name of Stephen Berger. Diverting himself one evening, Stephen chanced upon a spectacular performance by the well-known actress, Clara Dowell. Drawing upon her name, Stephen thought she'd "do well" by him, and soon the two were happily settled in Trenton, New Jersey.

Being both of them gainfully employed and of no meager means, there was no struggle to ensure that their son would want nothing. Anything young Hayden wanted, he received. At the same time, his parents had the foresight to teach their young son responsibility, so the attentions did not spoil him. Hayden learned that, though he could have what he wanted, it was far more satisfying in the long run to surround oneself with what one needed, and to have a use for everything. Mr. and Mrs. Berger also contributed to the character of their son by their high achievements and their expectations of him, which molded him into the proud, ruthless perfectionist he was today.

From an early age, Hayden—taking cues from his parents—demanded precise, immaculate surroundings. It brought him good grades as a methodical student, which pleased his parents, so he figured that what he was doing must be correct. It did not win him many friends, (indeed, such demeanor rather repelled them), but Hayden received many awards and honors from teachers and adults, which satisfied him.

When Hayden was five years old, a friend Stephen had known in high school, Tyler Robbins, paid a visit with his wife, Danielle. The Robbinses were considering adopting a child, since they could not have one of their own. The Bergers graciously offered to contribute toward both the adoption process, and the purchase of a small farm in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. All Stephen and Clara asked in return was that their son be welcomed as a playmate for the child.

The first time eleven-year-old Hayden saw Madison, who was eight at the time, he turned to his mother and said, "That is the most beautiful girl in the whole world!"

"More beautiful than I?" Clara chided her son playfully.

Young Hayden shook his head. "No, you're the world's most beautiful_ mother_. She's the world's most beautiful _girl_."

Thus an enduring friends hip was born. Hayden never failed to treat Madison with the utmost care and respect. He would faithfully join in her games, and she was always welcome in his.

They went to grade school together, even though Hayden could have gone to an elite academy. He had the idea fixed in his head that he was Madi's guardian, to protect her from those who would do her harm. Bullies were plenty in the little Philadelphia school, but it only took a few fights (most of which he lost) for Hayden to realize that there are certain skills a protector needs to be effective.

Forthwith, he consulted a neighbor, Old Wayne Gramm, former amateur boxer. After a week under Old Wayne's tutelage, Hayden found fulfillment in that he could now put down any enemy of Madi with more efficiency and less mess. All through the years, he stuck by her side. Madi welcomed it, and always welcomed him with a special smile that spoke volumes in her eloquent face.

His parents could have sent him anywhere in the world to study, but Hayden chose Ballard College of the Arts in Albany, New York, for two specific reasons: it had a stellar alumni record, and Madison Robbins had expressed her intentions to enroll there.

Hayden chose to major in the Fine Arts, working ceaselessly and methodically toward a master's degree because of his affinity in that area. He soon proved his worth on the stage, and in his sophomore year, he attained the coveted position of Drama Department Head, second only to the Director.

Finally, three years into his studies, Madi arrived at Ballard. Shortly after her arrival, three things happened to Hayden that changed the course of his life dramatically. First, his parents died in a car accident, which meant Hayden had to take a temporary leave from school to return home and attend his parents' funeral and the reading of the will. In the will, Hayden Berger inherited a large sum of money, plus a substantial part of the Berger estate.

It took quite a bit of contending with bankers, lawyers, and the like, but my the end of the month's leave Hayden requested of Ballard, he settled that, since he would be at college for another three years, and since he didn't need such a massive mansion all alone, he would sell it at a reasonable price to the charity he knew his parents supported, and use that money to purchase a smaller house of his own later on after school.

Hayden returned to Ballard to discover the second change in his life: Matthew Pucker.

Matt ought not have been anyone special, except his parents were disgustingly rich. Matt attracted much attention by flaunting this for all to see. It irked Hayden, not because of the money everyone knew Matt had, (Hayden, on account of the inheritance, was richer still), but because Matt became quickly popular for his indiscretion to the degree Hayden was ostracized for his tact, which everyone assumed to be snobbery.

Money, however, was not the only thing that came between Matt and Hayden. The other was Madison; or rather, Matt's fancy for Madi. She was as popular for her character as he was for his money. Just like Matt had been able to buy every other pleasure in his life, he assumed his money would appeal to the quiet young girl, whom he heard was working at the Library because she did not have the money to pay for her degree, but must work, earning enough each quarter to afford a few classes at a time.

Hayden felt somewhat vindicated when Matt discovered that, poor though Madi may be, but discontent with her station she was not. Neither would she allow herself to be forced into love, no matter how compelling the situation may seem to others around her.

A third change present itself in Hayden's life at this point. Halfway to his master's degree in Fine Arts, Hayden saw Matt attempting to covertly stage a sort of coup against him, to wrest from Hayden his position of leadership over the drama department. Hayden could not deny that Matt was a capable actor, and quite possibly worthy of the position, except that Hayden feared that if Matt attained that status, he would soon garner enough clout to have his way with Madi in spite of her valiant resistance. This, to Hayden, was the worst possible thing that could happen. Hastily, he stepped down as Department Head, and allowed the ambitious Montreal LaFleur to fill his place, if only to prevent Matt from ever getting it. He quickly regretted the appointment, but now at least he could focus more on the literary side, taking on an undergraduate degree in the Liberal Arts in addition to the remainder of his Master's in Fine Arts. The change of focus also allowed him more time in the Library, where he could keep an eye on Madi.

Hayden soon made a name for himself in the literary field as he had done in the theater. Hayden Berger was soon synonymous with ruthless, cutting perfectionism. A literature club even formed on this basis, taking the name "Bergeriacs" in his honor. Hayden consented to be an integral part of the club, everything short of being its leader (which, though he was never in name, he soon became in respect), and even won for the Bergeriacs permission from the directors to meet for one hour in the Library every day, something Hayden took great satisfaction in knowing that Matt, as affiliated with the drama department as he was, could never effect, even with all his money.

It was at this hour Hayden waited with suppressed agitation for Chris Newville, the guy who had ostensibly stolen the heart of Hayden's only love. Right as the clock struck twelve, Hayden heard a tentative step in the doorway.

_Hmph!_ Hayden thought, _He's punctual, at least!_

Very soon afterwards, Hayden saw a young man hesitantly approaching the sitting area where he waited. Hayden took the time to observe this intruder who had chosen to pit himself against the illustrious Hayden Berger. The more he looked, however, the lower his heart sank. Christopher Newville was not merely good-looking; he was downright flawless!

Toned muscles (but not overly bulky), short brown hair spiked and tastefully frosted California-style at the tips, and a pair of clear blue eyes framing a nose neither too large nor too small, perched just right over a confident mouth.

Hayden compared Chris' features with his own: Hayden's skin was a shade too pale from being inside studying most of the time. His nose came to a fine round ball at the end, a distinctly German trait genetic courtesy of his father. His hands had always been considered rather effeminate, his forehead too tall, and his eyes too big. If looks were the only merit to a woman, Hayden Berger did not stand a chance. Hayden found hasty comfort for his drowning ego in the one skill he knew he'd mastered: wit. Surely this perfect model of a young man could not be more skilled with his tongue than Hayden Berger, Chief among Wordsmiths!

Pointedly, Hayden stared unflinching at Chris as the latter finally approached him and extended a hand.

"Hayden Berger, I presume?" The question came from those perfect lips, which then smiled cheekily at their own cleverness.

"You presume correctly," Hayden said coldly, but inside he was was this impudent rascal, that he would throw famous quotes about like casual everyday things, instead of treating them with the value they deserved? Such irreverence! It was all Hayden could do to keep from smacking that finely-chiseled face as they shook hands.

"So good to finally meet you…sir," Chris said sincerely.

Hayden suddenly felt compelled to be very short with this young man. "State your business," he snapped.

Chris furtively glanced away. "Um, sir?" he said nervously, "there are two matters I wish to discuss. First, I would like to join the Bergeriacs."

"Oh really?" Hayden said slowly, standing to his feet. He then began firing off questions rapidly.

"Which author wrote more poetry, James Joyce or Edgar Allen Poe?"

"Um, Ja—"

"What is Mark Twain's real name?"

"Uh—"

"How many syllables per line in a hexametric poem?"

"Oh! Si—"

"Which of the following works by Shakespeare deals with twins: _A Comedy of Errors_ or _Two Gentlemen of Verona_?"

"Well, um—"

"If you do not know these basics, then _why do you expect to become a part of the Bergeriacs_?"

"Sir," Chris began finally, screwing up his courage, "if I may, let me make this point: young men in ancient Greece, when they desired to acquire knowledge, would align themselves as disciples under the best teachers of their day. I have heard that the Bergeriacs' Literary Club is the best group in Ballard, so I wish to become your disciple, even as a junior member, if you will permit me."

Hayden raised his eyebrows as if skeptical. Inwardly he was very pleased at the clarity of Chris' speech, but he still wanted to keep his harsh façade. "That was well put," he gave out as if grudgingly. Completely joking, he continued, "Have you been working on that speech for very long?"

To his utter shock, Chris nodded! "Yeah, I've practiced all week in preparation for this. So, you think my delivery was good? Not too fast? I always feel like I talk too fast, because I'm worried I'll forget a phrase or mix up my words or something."

Hayden's admiration dropped considerably, and he cleared his throat, "Ahem! Yes, fine; now, what was the second matter?"

Chris licked his lips, "Ah, um, may we sit down, sir?"

"Sure," Hayden said, suddenly smiling as he returned to his armchair while Chris took the one next to him. "I'm scaring you, aren't I?" Hayden asked Chris.

The younger student's reaction was rather knee-jerk, "Oh no, not at—well, no offense but—actually … yeah."

Hayden could tell Chris was miserable by the way he looked at him. Hayden laughed kindly. "Well then, let us dispense with the formal language and call each other Chris and Hayden. Now, let's hear about that second matter."

"Um," Chris wet his lips again, "It's about a girl."

"Madison Robbins."

Chris looked up in surprise, "You know her?"

"Of course I do; she's the most popular girl in Ballard, you couldn't meet a student who doesn't know her. That's not the only way I know her, though. Madi and I are close, practically cousins, you could say."

"Really? Well, then maybe you would know: does a guy like me have a chance with a girl like her?"

Hayden considered carefully. So, not only did Madi like him, but he liked her back. Hayden still fought with one question: was Chris worthy of her?

"A guy with a 'chance' as you say with Madison," he told Chris, "ought to be good-looking."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't—"

"Now, you're being modest! Anyway, he cannot be too rich, for she is of the sort who staunchly believe that money cannot buy true love."

"Well, that's good, 'cause I don't—"

"Couple these characteristics with a fine wit and a head for poetry, and you could have her any way you like!"

Chris groaned and let his head flop against the back of the armchair. "As Hamlet would say, 'Aye, there's the rub!'"

Hayden winced. "Please," he moaned, "have the goodness not to quote Hamlet to me, after what happened yesterday."

"Sorry; it's true though. Talking like this, even with you, man-to-man, not a problem for me. But talking to girls…"

"Let me guess, you get all tongue-tied and freeze up and don't know what to say."

"Exactly! I know of your repartee, and I was wondering if you could…y'know…maybe, like, coach me or something?"

Hayden pondered this suggestion. Coach? Chris was asking Hayden Berger to be some sort of banter-coach? To win Madi? To stand by the sidelines and watch someone else use his words to win her? He liked Madi; true, he could talk to her, but that was provided the subject was anything but his love for her. Hayden knew if he wanted to speak for himself he would have a hard time of it. Still, every time he looked at her, all sorts of descriptions, sonnets, and poems drifted through his mind. He longed to tell her those things, but could never bring himself to—Hayden paused in his train of thought to consider Chris' request. He had asked Hayden for help, which meant Hayden would be telling Chris what to say. An idea struck him: Now was his chance to express his feelings to Madi!

With Chris's good looks and Hayden's smart tongue, the two of them could create a champion lover, a "hero of romance" if you will. He looked back at Chris.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, "Are you willing to trust me with your mouth, to say everything I tell you to say?"

Chris answered carefully, "Yes, I am sure."

Hayden smiled as victory welled in his heart. He extended a hand, "Well then, let's work together." The two friends shook, clinching the deal.

Only then did Hayden notice the crowd of Bergeriacs entering the Library. One young student nudged a fellow.

"This is it! We're just in time! The handshake before the fight!"

Hayden frowned and threw a playful punch at the speaker. "Of course not, you bloodthirsty miscreant! Is that any way to treat a fellow Bergeriac?"

"Wait, what?" cried several voices, Chris included.

"That's right," Hayden affirmed, "boys, welcome your new member, Chris Newville."

"Chris!" A familiar voice cried, and Hayden smiled as Madi approached, but frowned when he saw Matt Pucker and his cronies at her heels. Matt tried to grab Madi's hand, but she pulled away from him and pushed her way through the Bergeriacs to get to Chris. She flung her arms around him while he blinked in surprise at her forwardness.

"Now that you're a member," Hayden heard her whisper to Chris, "will you write me a poem?"

Chris looked at Hayden with a face full of alarm, but Hayden nodded, mindful of the unsigned sonnet in his pocket. He would give it to Chris to copy onto the computer and send to Madi.

"Yes," Chris whispered back, and Madi flitted back to the front of the Library, her face glowing with happiness.

Matt stopped her at the edge of the crowd. "Who's that?" he demanded of her.

Madi shrugged, indifferent toward Matt. "That's Chris Newville. He's involved in the theater. I wonder that you do not know him."

"Oh, yeah," Matt feigned acquaintance, "I knew he was here, I just thought a guy like him would be below your interest."

"How little you truly know me, then; why would he be below me?"

"Well… can he write?"

"He would not be a Bergeriac if he couldn't!"

Matt frowned, "I'm a Bergeriac."

Madison laughed patronizingly, "Matt, everyone knows you paid your way into the Bergeriacs, though Heaven knows why! You're not being fair to Chris. C'mon," she chided him coyly.

"We still on for dinner next week, honey?" Matt asked suavely, trying to put his arm around her shoulders.

Madi shrugged him off, "I'll let you know if I have time," she said evenly. She took her position behind the counter of the Library.

Matt looked back toward the Bergeriacs, deep in discussion, with Hayden and Chris at the center. He scowled bitterly and shrugged to his gang gathered around him, "Let's go, guys."

On the way out, he spied a brochure advertising the "Battle of the Bards," a poetry and prose competition held every year at the Onecenter in Syracuse. Thoughts of revenge filled his mind as he took one.

_So, Matthew Pucker isn't worthy enough for the Bergeriacs?_ he thought, _That's fine! I know just the thing to make the Bergeriacs unworthy of Ballard!_

That evening, Madison logged onto Ballard's networking site, . They could barely restrain herself when she saw her inbox contained a message from "cnewville"! It was the sonnet she asked for! It did not disappoint her in the least. Madi printed it out and read it again. What profound metaphors! What tender words!

Madi knew without a doubt that she would never regret picking Chris.

^^^^^


	5. Chapter 4: To Woo A Lady

So began an experience like no other in the life of Madison Robbins. She found herself unable to focus on school and work when she and Chris were not in the same room, and unable to do it when he was! She became overly preoccupied and easily flustered. Yet through the romantic tizzy. Chris seemed to kindle the flame of inspiration which had been so long dormant within Madi.

Ever since Maid was young, she wanted to be a writer. But not just any writer; she could do without novels and essays. The thing that interested Madison most was play-writing. Someday, she wanted to write a play. The only person who knew of her aspiration was Matt, and a conceited lot of good he was! He constantly nagged her to write something, even offering her money, but to accept his commission, she had to accept his terms: the play had to be a romance, and Madi must co-star alongside him. Not that Madi minded being courted by a guy who constantly bought her the latest and greatest in clothing and merchandise as casually as if it were mere duty, but there was a shallowness and a superficiality to him that repulsed the sensitive girl.

Against Chris, on the other hand, she had no such qualms. She was surprised at the sheer volume of his communications. Every time she checked, whether on her cell-phone, her desk in the study hall, in her locker, waiting for her in the Library, sticking out of books he returned, and especially in her inbox online, there was always a special note from him. Sometimes they were simple, short trifles, but occasionally she would receive a lengthy one.

Madi confided to Donna that she was sure there was no one in the world who could write like Chris did. "Hayden knows how to parse well," she admitted, "but oh, the richness in Chris' letters! I knew he was good enough for the Bergeriacs!"

Madi took to saving all of Chris' notes and collecting them in a binder she brought to school every day. She read those poems and letters constantly.

A week later, she got off her shift at the Library a good hour before her evening class, and saw someone waiting for her in the darkness outside. "Chris?" she cried, running down to him.

She stopped when he stepped into the light. It was Matt Pucker!

"Guess again!" he said far too cheerfully for a man who had just been mistaken for his own rival. "Come on," he continued, grabbing her arm, "We'll be late for our reservation."

At dinner, as at most of Madi's dates with Matt, he turned the conversation completely to himself. "So, Miss Madi, how is your script coming along?"

"_My_ script?" Madi echoed cuttingly, "I told you, I'm too busy. Maybe Christmas break I'll be able to start something."

"Now, wouldn't that be a nice present! You know, I'm only doing this because I want to be with you," Matt sighed dramatically, "but you insist on hanging out with those arrogant Bergeriacs!"

"Why, Matt, you're one of them!"

"Oh, _psh_! You know my true place is the stage. I only joined the Bergeriacs to be closer to you. But never fear, for soon I—ah, _we_—will be rid of the lot of them!"

Madi looked up at Mat with fear in her eyes, which he mistook for awe. "Oh! How are you going to do that?"

He pulled the "Battle of the Bards" brochure from his pocket with all the air of a conquering hero. "Ta-daa!" he said, "A one-way ticket to obliteration, Syracuse!"

Madi took the brochure, with its many glossy pictures of students in period clothing, mouths open, reciting their pieces. "_Obliteration_?" she cried, "Are you sure—"

"Of course I'm sure they'll be creamed! Check this out!" he pulled out his laptop and brought up the site for the Battle. He pointed at the listing of the incumbent champion. "Look who's going to be there: _Poetas Piratas_, the Pirate Poets. They've been the reigning champs for two years running. The Bergeriacs don't stand a chance!"

"But…I'm a Bergeriac, too! I'd have to go with them!"

Matt shook his head, "Not officially; that's why I'm telling you now, to give you a chance to back out before they leave. If you wrote that script, then you could stay and perform, and together we can restore drama to its former glory at Ballard!"

Madi knew she needed a plan if she was going to save Chris from this social demise, and she needed it fast. No way would she stand back and watch as he stumbled like a lamb to slaughter! A plan formed in her mind.

"Surely you won't send _all_ the Bergeriacs?" she inquired.

Matt gave her a puzzled look. "Yes, all; why not?"

"Even Hayden Berger?"

"Oh, worried about _him_, are you? Oh well, Berger needs to be taken down a peg or two anyway. A Battle like this wouldn't kill him like it'll kill the rest of them!"

"Or would it?" Madi suggested, "I'm telling you, Matt, Hayden and Chris are two of the most eloquent guys I know. Wouldn't Hayden just _love_ a chance to go up against insurmountable odds and win?"

Matt paused in his exultation. "Hmm, you may have a point there—"

"Chris, too, has told me that he's so honored to be one of the Bergeriacs that he's anxious to prove his mettle."

"He has skill, then?"

"Oh yes!" Madi replied warmly, "More than you know! See, Matt? If you send those two guys off with the rest of them, you're just playing right into their hands."

Now _there_ was something Matt did _not_ want to do! "What do you suggest then, my little Benedict Arnold?" he said.

Madi saw her chance, "I would say, send the Bergeriacs, but keep Hayden and Chris back here. If you do that... I'll write the script for you." _After all_, the thought occurred to her, _I have all the romantic material I need in Chris' letters!_

"Would you really, Madi?"

"Yes, Matt."

Matt picked up the brochure and tossed his fork down onto his plate with a victorious clang.

"You cheeky little turncoat!" he cried with unconcealed delight, "I always knew you were my type of girl! I flatter myself!"

He began walking away from her as soon as they were outside the restaurant.

"Where are you going?" Madi cried.

Matt turned around, but did not stop. "I'm going to enact _our_ plan, darling!"

Madi walked alone back to the college. She had saved her two closest friends, even if she couldn't save the whole group. Now she had a script to think about.

Just after her last class, her cellphone beeped. It was a text from Chris. **"Random thought,"** it said, **"isn't it interesting how the word "flattery" has FLAT in it? There's nothing flat about it! Beware the man who flatters himself, for he will inflate to such an extent that there is no room for someone at either side. Good night Madi sleep well."**

Back at Donna's house that night, Madi took out her binder of love notes and a blank notebook. At the top of the first page, she wrote the tile in block letters:

_**ONCE UPON LOVE**_

For the next two weeks, Madi's days were completely full, whether with school, Chris' strange form of dating (predominately notes, though a couple times they got to speak, but he didn't say much; he did bring her cookies or lunch a few times, but it was mostly notes), and writing her play.

She found, however, that simply using Chris' letters gave her most of the dialogue, beyond which she needed only a semblance of plot continuity between them. What better plot than that which she was experiencing at that exact time? Madison became Osminda, a poor daughter of a struggling businessman. The Library transformed into the Beaucoup Café, a nice romantic setting for her play.

Now for a hero befitting Matt…

Madi grinned as she rearranged the letters in a certain someone's name as she had done with her own, and came up with Stephorrich, the prince who thinks he has to woo his lady (Osminda) in disguise. Few people would know who Stephorrich was based on, and Matt was not one of them.

The relationship with Christopher, a guy who truly loved Madi, opened her eyes to the hollowness of Matt's praises and flattery. She saw him now for who he truly was. Consequently over the course of the play, Osminda too ceases to be fooled by the prince's many disguises, and discovers his true identity in the end. Contrary to Madi's relationship, though, the man in disguise turns out to be the man she loves, but Madi knew that the correlating "prince" (Matt), was fast turning into someone hateful. Madi resolved to poke covert fun at Matt, making him sound very buffoonish, and writing Osminda's lines using wise maxims pulled from letters she received so frequently from Chris, such as the end of the play when Osminda finally uncovers the prince.

_STEPHOR.: __**proudly**__ You admit it then, dear Osminda, that you knew not it was me? I am quite clever at disguising my appearance, I flatter myself!_

_OSMINDA:__** Candidly**__ I wonder why they call it flattery? There's nothing flat about it!_

_STEPHOR.: __**Waves his hand**__ That's all very well, but you've found me at last! __**Kneels before OSMINDA**__ Dearest Osminda, will you bestow on me the honor of being your Prince? Will you consent to be my princess?_

**_[CUE FANFARE]_**

_OSMINDA:__** Happily takes his hand**__ Gladly, dear Stephorrich! With all my heart!_

**_Curtain_**

Madi saved the document on her laptop and smiled with satisfaction. Logging onto , she sent it to three people with a request for feedback.

The first person to reply was Matt.

_Very good! See? I knew you could do it! Well, would luv to chat, but I have to run, sweetie! Lots of rehearsing to do, since most of the lines are mine! Your Prince, Puck_

Feedback from Chris came a few days later when Madi chatted with him on the BalCoNY site.

**Mrobbins: So how was your day?**

**Cnewville: ok**

**Mrobbins: Coulda been better?**

**Cnewville: yeah, I guess**

**Mrobbins: did you read the script I sent you?**

**Cnewville: Kinda. Is it something the drama dept. is gonna do?**

**Mrobbins: Yeah. What did you think?**

**Cnewville: It was good.**

A week later, Hayden met her with coffee before her morning class. Though Madi professed to only care what Chris thought, she could not deny some anxiousness over what Hayden had to say about it since his was the foremost opinion on writing to her.

Hayden sat for a long while. Finally, he leaned forward. "Madi, do you want my opinion as a friend or as a scholar?"

Madi cocked an eyebrow. What was he going to say? How should she answer his question? Did she only want Hayden's encouragement, and that was all? Would she hear his criticism?

"Sure," she finally decided, "let's hear both, why not?"

Hayden looked his young friend in the eye. "As a scholar, I'd say you've got yourself a plot full of loose ends and disjointed scenes!"

Madi's jaw dropped, and Hayden knew he had to finish before she shut him out completely, "But as a friend, I'd say it's a pretty good first draft."

Madi shook her head with a smile, "Oh no! It's not a first draft! Matt liked it so much, he's booked us at Ballard Theater this Saturday."

Hayden smiled. _Matt, you sucker!_ he thought, _You haven't got a clue, have you?_ "Do you feel ready?" he asked Madi.

"Sort of; I've been finding great comfort in Chris' notes, though."

_Have you, now?_ Hayden thought smugly, but feigned no knowledge. "Oh? He's writing to you? I haven't seen any of his work since that first sonnet."

Madi shrugged, but her eyes were alight. "You oughta see it! Chris may look like a Hollywood airhead, but oh! The stuff he writes! And so frequently, too! I feel like I know him on the inside as well as I know him on the outside. Actually, if you must know," she continued reluctantly, even though Hayden had not said anything, but sat and let her talk, "it is from those letters that I derived most of the material for my dialogue."

_Most?_ Hayden wanted to retort, _Try __**all**__ and you'll be closer to the mark!_ But he knew he could not make this point without exposing Chris and himself, so he said, "Oh."

"Yeah, I mean it, it's great stuff!" Her voice faded, and Hayden knew what she wanted to say next.

"Why not put it to profitable use against Matt?" he finished for her.

She shrugged and nodded with a laugh.

"Hm, something tells me I might want to be at this debut performance!" Hayden remarked, which made Madi laugh all the more.

"Oh, I would love it if you were there!" she cried.

"And Chris?" Hayden finished her comment a second time.

Madison's eyes sparkled, "And Chris; see you Saturday!"

Both friends parted to their respective classes.

Saturday came, and the play was a success—though not in the way Matt intended. He had practiced his lines, but he had not paid attention to the context, so when "dear Osminda" won the crowd with her witticisms and wise maxims, Matt was shocked to find that most of the lines he had practiced in a serious tone were actually meant for humor! To see him put them out with a straight face made it all the more deadpan.

Monty was so pleased to see "his beloved" so brilliant, that the approached the pair afterwards, Madi happily beaming, Matt quietly steaming.

"I've booked you both in Carnegie Hall!" he announced, "You'll have to pay a rental fee, of course, but just think! Next weekend, you will both be in New York City!"

Matt excused himself, vainly fighting his rising temper while leaving the gracious acceptance to Madi. She looked up to see Matt talking heatedly in the corner with Ned, but she never found out what they were discussing.

Someone walked by and slipped a paper in her hand. She looked up; it was Hayden. He smiled, winked at her, and disappeared into the crowd.

Madi opened the note.

_Dinner before you leave? -Chris_

Madi's heart fluttered. There was only one evening this next week that she would be available. That night, she would be completely his!

On the evening of the date, Chris returned to his dorm room to find Hayden waiting for him.

"Ready to sweep her off her feet tonight, Chris?"

Chris, more than a little puzzled to see Hayden there, smiled at the thought of Madi. "Oh yeah!" he said. He pulled a sleek black suit out of the closet. "By the way, thanks for the suit, man," he said.

Hayden waved a hand. "Ah, no problem. Hey, I have something else for you, too." He produced a paper and showed it to Chris. "It's a series of questions specifically designed for Madi, to draw out her deepest desires, and I made them easy for you to answer honestly, too. Plus, if you need help, I have some answers written that—"

"Hayden," Chris held up his hand, "You've been really kind to me, and I don't think I can ever thank you enough for what you've done to help me win Madi's heart, but I think it's time I spoke entirely for myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; she loves me for who I am now. Why do I need to borrow someone else's love? No, I've got something else in mind. Tonight, Chris is his own man."

Hayden noted the serious, determined glint in Chris' eyes, and he shrugged and put the paper back in his pocket.

"All right, Chris," he said, "she's all yours."


End file.
